


carve your name on my bedpost

by Chesra



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chesra/pseuds/Chesra
Summary: “I figured you needed space,” Nino admits.“I needed you,” Jean says, point-blank. From the table, Lotta laughs.--or, Jean articulates the words he should have said years ago.





	carve your name on my bedpost

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i apparently feverishly wrote ninojean fic days after bingewatching the show and,,, forgot about it??? whoops ahaha this is like, more than a year old but hey here it is
> 
> dedicated to aruki and ady for getting me to this fandom!! ♥ thanks loves i owe u for introducing me to legit good anime

Nino likes to laugh at him for many things. His obliviousness. His low tolerance for alcohol. His intense desire to be noticed and liked by Director-General Mauve.

 

The last is something Nino references more frequently, now that the Director-General and Chief Advisor have been rumored to have grown even closer in the past few months. Jean lets it slide. He’d known, even in the midst of the coup d’etat hubbub, that his love goes unrequited. It’s something Jean is intimately familiar with. After all, this wouldn’t be the first.

 

He’s starting to wonder, though, if it really is. He sneaks glances at Nino, liking how he looks without his glasses. He’d never got the courage to confess to him, when Nino had professed to have no interest in anyone in high school, and even declared it unnecessary. From that conversation, Jean had calculated his chances and then cut his losses. Of the dozens of girls, and occasional guy, who had stuffed love letters in Nino’s lockers, none had the fortune to have their feelings returned. Jean had no wish to join the ranks of those rejected. He had been lucky enough to have Nino as a friend. There had never been a need to ask for more.

 

But now that he knows everything - well, mostly everything - he can’t help seeing it in a clearer picture. Nino had no doubt not wanted to take advantage of any unknowing high schoolers - nor did he want to be distracted from his real reason for being there.

 

So that could have been all a front.

 

Now all Jean has to confirm if he does have a chance of Nino returning his affections or not.

 

Admittedly, Jean can foresee what reservations Nino can have towards him. He’s the son of royalty, and a person he’s been watching all his life. The line of duty requires loyalty and devotion, but it doesn’t mean Nino like _likes_ him. It’s a very dangerous line to cross, and if Jean knows Nino as he thinks he does, then it’s safe to assume that Nino is perfectly happy to stay on the other side. He hasn’t tripped up in more than fifteen years - a feat that Jean finds admirable, and consequently, arousing.

 

The desire to know itches on Jean’s skin. He’s aware of his feelings, and how they intensify each day. Nino has been his lifeline since high school, and it’s been more pronounced since his parents died. Nino’s been there, unfailingly, his whole life, and Jean could not imagine him not in it. The days when Nino had been absent, intentionally removing himself from Jean while he had been auditing, had been the worst. All Jean had wanted was for Nino to be there.

 

(He got what he wished for in the end, didn’t he. The smell of blood still haunts his nights. _This isn’t what I wanted,_ he had thought, desperately, feeling the taste of bile rising up his throat as he sat on the sterile hospital bench for hours on end, praying for a miracle.)

 

But Nino’s back in his life, _for good,_ and Jean is determined for things to stay that way. Nino doesn’t bring his camera around anymore, though every now and then Jean can see him looking at him, getting that look in his eyes that says he wants to capture this moment. Jean’s very familiar with it now, and it’s strange to see it sans the lens of the camera.

 

In response Jean drains another glass of red wine, thankful he can hide any discomfort behind his flushed cheeks.

 

Nino shakes his head. “You should really stop drinking soon,” he says, as he refills Jean’s glass.

 

Jean glares at him. “You’re not helping.”

 

Nino laughs. “I like getting you drunk,” he says, earnest.  

 

That’s what trips Jean up about Nino - beyond keeping his reasons for befriending Jean all this time, he’s just so _honest._ Jean knows his affection is every bit genuine - hasn’t Nino confessed to him that he had enjoyed his job, despite orders not to? Nino did not have to go above and beyond the call of duty. He could have been someone just present in his life, someone Jean could have been happy to call a friend. But no; he had been there to share both the ups and downs of his life. Jean depended on him, considered him his partner-in-crime, his _best friend._ Nino made him feel comfortable in a way no one had ever had.

 

“Why?” Jean slurs. Damn. He really is about to hit his limit soon.

 

Nino raises an eyebrow. “Why what?” he asks.

 

“Why do you like getting me drunk?” Jean expounds, swirling his refilled glass.

 

Nino taps his own glass thoughtfully as he takes a sip. “You’re more honest,” he says. “It’s an easier way, to coax details from you. You’re not the type to spill everything so quickly.”

 

“But you’re not working anymore,” Jean reminds him. “You don’t need to know about me anymore.”

 

For a second a look crosses Nino’s expression, one that Jean can’t describe. It’s not pained, or hurt, or bewildered. But it’s gone before Jean can inspect it further. “No,” Nino allows. “I don’t need to.”

 

“But I want to,” he adds, a shade quieter. The heat rises to Jean’s face then.

 

“You can just ask me,” he somehow manages not to stutter.

 

Nino laughs again. It’s a nice sound. Why has Jean never realized that before? “I suppose I can,” he says. “But this is more fun.”

 

“You’re drinking me to an early death,” Jean complains.

 

“I’ll get there before you,” Nino says lightly, but it doesn’t sound like a joke. The question is on Jean’s lips, but it refuses to tumble out.

 

Maybe Nino has a point with all this drinking. It is much harder to say things without alcohol buzzing in his system. He drinks the rest of the wine in one gulp, laying his head on the table. “No more.”

 

Above him, he hears Nino slosh the bottle. They’d drunk about three quarters of it already. “You’re leaving me to finish this all by myself?” Nino asks, teasing. His voice feels far away.

 

“You enjoy that too,” Jean points out, a little snappish.

 

There’s that sound again, a soft inhale, blended with quiet chuckles. Jean imagines Nino shaking his head. Wearily he raises his head a little, and is met with piercing blue eyes. The sight knocks the breath out of him.

 

Objectively, he knows Nino is handsome - so many people have fallen head over heels for him, and that list includes his own sister. There’s also that air of mystery, and the _motorcycle_ , an excellent addition to an existing recipe, like strawberries on a chocolate cake. There would be very few people hard-pressed to say Nino isn’t easy on the eyes.

 

But right now it feels like Jean’s been looking at him wrong all this time, because Nino isn’t just handsome, he’s _breathtaking._ It’s unbelievable. How could he not have known? Has he been blind? Maybe he’s the one who needs glasses between the two of them.

 

He can only blame the lack of air to his brain for what he says next.

 

Those blue eyes widen, a little, taken aback. Jean wonders if he’s ever seen Nino surprised. He’s always in control in every situation; chill and laidback, as if nothing ever shakes him. For a moment Jean is proud to crack the facade, even just a little.

 

Then Nino lets a out a soft exhale. “You’re drunk, Jean,” he says, and the way he says his name just rolls with affection. He takes a hold of Jean’s arm. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

 

Jean lets him drag him upwards, clutching onto him carefully as they walk out of the bar. Miraculously they manage to stumble back to his building together. The last thing he remembers is curling up in the sofa, Nino’s hand still in his.

 

\--

 

“I said something stupid last night,” Jean tells him.

 

Nino shakes his head. “Nothing new,” he says, with a smile.

 

Jean watches him carefully with bloodshot eyes. His head is screaming bloody murder, and not for the first time he regrets not having curtains in the penthouse. The sunlight filtering through the glass windows are never good for any hangovers. “I meant it, though.”

 

“I always mean everything I say,” he adds. “Even when I’m drunk. You know that.”

 

There’s that look again, the one that Jean can’t decipher. Nino has hooded eyes of his own, courtesy of last night; his hair is mussed in a way that makes Jean want to reach out and touch it. Jean, for once, does not resist it, and lets his hands curl over the soft strands.

 

Nino makes a noise; whether if it’s from surprise or protest Jean doesn’t know. He falls silent, though, cutting himself short, and leaning in closer to his touch. Emboldened, Jean lets his fingers roam, letting them brush against Nino’s ears.

 

They stay like that, in peaceful stasis, unbroken even as Lotta peeks out at them, shaking her head. “Nii-chan,” she says. “Nino. Breakfast is ready.”

 

“Coming, Lotta,” Nino says, but he’s still sitting on the couch, his knees bent towards Jean’s.

 

She bustles into the kitchen, the sound of pans and the smell of bread wafting over. It’s tempting, but at the moment Jean has no desire for food. He drinks in the sight of Nino blinking owlishly at him, barely captured and yet refusing to take flight. At once Jean feels the same tender feelings from last night overcome him.

 

He’s surprised how easy it is to say it again, even without the influence of alcohol egging him on.

 

Nino sighs. Shakes his head. “I was worried about this.”

 

Jean raises an eyebrow.

 

“You’re like - a baby duckling,” Nino says, pausing over his words. “You latch onto anyone who shows you kindness.”

 

“That may be true,” Jean concedes, “but that also doesn’t make what I said any less true, either.”

 

Nino looks up at him. His eyes seem sad. “Jean.”

 

“You’re not telling me no,” Jean says, feeling ridiculously childish. His hand is still in Nino’s hair. He lets it slip down to cradle his cheek. “You’re not telling me what you told my sister years ago.”

 

Nino closes his eyes. “I can’t, Jean,” he says, with a frustrated huff.

 

“Why not?”

 

“That time,” Nino says, “Lotta didn’t know anything. It would have been unfair to lead her on when I would have never let it happen.” He chews on his lip nervously.

 

“And now?”

 

“And now you know,” Nino says, almost painfully sad. “And that means - it means you’ve thought about this.”

 

“I have,” Jean agrees. He has, to a degree. He’s never been the type to overthink, but he is perfectly capable of covering all his bases.

 

Suddenly he is struck by how little he goes after what he wants - what he says he wants, and what he really wants. And this - Nino, by his side, is exactly what he’s been wanting. He’d thought he had it - had been contented with the knowledge that Nino was his, his partner-in-crime, his person to call in any event. He’d been so sure of him. But knowing there was more of Nino than he had known all this time makes him hungrier for it. He wants Nino - all of him. It just seems right to have him.

 

“Do you have objections to it?” he asks softly.

 

Nino’s grin is wry as he covers the hand that’s on his cheek. “That’s the problem,” he says. “I don’t.”

 

The warmth that crashes all over Jean feels like that evening when Director-General Mauve had shown up in that gorgeous dress and smiled at him. He turns his face down, barely able to handle the sheer force of Nino’s smile.

 

“Oi,” Nino says, his tone teasing. “Why are you getting embarrassed now?”

 

“I thought,” Jean mumbles, shaking his head. What had he thought? That he would have to climb an uphill battle to convince Nino otherwise? He hadn’t been thinking, really. He hadn’t even decided that he would tell him yesterday, repeat it today, and insist on it while sitting on his couch, all the while nursing a hangover. The headache persists now, beating on him like a drum, like the sound of consequences. “I’m happy.”

 

Nino takes his other hand, the one covering his mouth. He pulls it up to cup his own cheek, keeping Jean’s fingers pressed to his skin. Jean dares to raise his head, taking in the scene. “I’m happy too,” Nino says quietly. “Probably the Master won’t be, but he can tell me off all he likes.”

 

Jean wants to tell him he has no obligations to anyone, not to the King, not to his Master, not to Jean himself. Nino should have lived for himself - Jean had always thought he had been living for himself. Knowing that he’s been a caged bird all this time makes something ache in his chest.

 

Lotta crosses out of the kitchen. “The toast is ready,” she announces to both of them. “Let’s eat!”

 

Nino unclasps his hands, and Jean unwillingly pulls his own away. They stagger to stand; Jean swaying very slightly. Nino laughs as he draws in close, under the pretense of steadying him or something else, Jean doesn’t care to know. He leans his head on his shoulder, decidedly content.

 

Lotta smiles at both of them from across the dining table once they finally settle down. “I’m glad,” she says, as she puts marmalade jam on her toast. “It’s good to see you both back to normal.”

 

Nino raises an eyebrow, looking momentarily affronted. Then he lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Lotta.”

 

“It’s fine,” she reassures him. “It was - a little upsetting, when you said you were always busy,” she adds. “Though I think my brother took it worse than I did.”

 

“Lotta,” Jean says, fighting the wave of embarrassment crawling up his cheeks.

 

“He was like a sad puppy the whole time,” Lotta says. “I was worried he was going to overwork himself to death.”

 

Jean considers the merits of protesting, and decides against it. Instead he takes a slice of bread and bites off the edges, bit by bit. At least bread has never betrayed him.

 

Nino glances at him. “I didn’t think it would upset you that much,” he says, and his eyes are wide.

 

Jean swallows. “Of course it upset me,” he says evenly. “I knew you were following me, so - why not stay with me anyway?” He hasn’t articulated it now, but he knows the hurt is bone deep. If Nino had just been by his side, literally, he could have warned him about the assassins, and Nino wouldn’t have been hurt. They could avoided so many pitfalls. “We could have at least had dinner and drinks. That was much better than sitting down with all those district councils.”

 

Nino starts to laugh. “That’s your job, Jean,” he says.

 

“We could have met afterwards,” Jean points out. “You were staying away intentionally, weren’t you?”

 

“I figured you needed space,” Nino admits.

 

“I needed you,” Jean says, point-blank. From the table, Lotta laughs.

 

“You’re going to have your hands full with my brother,” she tells Nino, with a secretive smile. “Well - at least I won’t be the only one who has to deal with him!”

 

Nino groans, but he’s smiling as he chews on his own piece of bread. “I think I’ll manage,” he tells her with a wink. “I’ve had years of practice.”

  
Jean just rolls his eyes and lets his arm press against Nino’s own on the table. He can’t believe he ever waited so long just to get _this_.


End file.
